


Gayworld

by zelempa



Category: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Aliens, DADT, Forced Proximity, M/M, Oblivious, Pining, Pretending to Be Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-10
Updated: 2008-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelempa/pseuds/zelempa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"God," Rodney moaned. "This is simultaneously my best dream and my worst nightmare."</p><p>"Why?" asked Sheppard. "Afraid you're going to get hit on by a guy?"</p><p>"I didn't even think of that! Do you really think I'll get propositioned?"</p><p>"Sure, Rodney," said Sheppard seriously. "You've got an awfully pretty mouth."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gayworld

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erda/gifts).



The massive stone fortress stood on a hill, surrounded by soldiers' tents in perfect neat rows. Rodney sighed heavily as he and Sheppard trudged up from the jumper in the meadow below for the second time that day.

"And then there were two," said Rodney. "I hate going on diplomatic missions alone. I'm not a diplomat."

"You want to go back and radio Ronon?" Sheppard offered, pointing his thumb backward. "These guys would totally love him. He'd come, too. I'm pretty sure a broken leg is the kind of injury he can just walk off in like a day."

"No thanks. I don't want to get in Keller's bad books. She's the Ebenezer Scrooge of morphine drips. Anyway he'd be just useless as us. It's Teyla we need. Why'd you cave so quickly? We could have kept her! The Kalenna want our technology more than we want their training techniques or whatever. We should have put our foot down. She goes, we go."

"Hey, I would've if she'd let me," said Sheppard. "She didn't think it was worth making a big deal over. I kinda see her point. She's not going to be pregnant forever."

"No, she'll be a mom, and what will they think of that? 'Warriors do not attend PTA meetings _here_,'" Rodney imitated Commander Ayal with a far goofier voice than he actually possessed. "Teyla's too nice. We didn't have to respect their stupid beliefs."

"We could have made them train with her, but we couldn't have made them like it. You saw the way they looked at her. If she doesn't want to spend a week defending her decisions to complete strangers, she's got that right."

The guard at the city gate remembered them, which was understandable: they'd breezed in like rock stars with their crazy clothes and aura of scandal. As the guard made a great show of raising the portcullis and offering to help them with their guns (uh, no thanks, guy), Rodney expected him to ask for their autographs.

"Did you see off your, your, um..." He mimed a pregnant belly, then shook his head, grinning nervously. "How'd that happen, anyway?"

"The usual way, I imagine," said Sheppard.

"You mean she--" The guard suppressed a laugh. "No way!"

"What do you..." Rodney glanced at Sheppard, who frowned, but said nothing. "Oh my God, this place is even more backward than I thought! Do people here not know about sex?"

"Of course we do," said the guard, "but there's a little thing called kya-nde-ki, you know."

"What?"

"Kya-nde-ki?" The guard searched their faces for recognition. "No babies in the battlefield? Warrior men and warrior women can't just go around having sex with each other! It would be... unclean!"

"What, seriously?" cried Rodney. "You forbid _sex_? That's--that's barbaric!"

"Now, now," said Sheppard. "Lots of perfectly good militaries have restrictions on sex."

"Name one," said Rodney.

Sheppard sent him an "oh, please" look, to which Rodney responded with a "no, seriously" look, and Sheppard drawled deliberately, "The armed forces of the United States of America."

"What? No, they--oh, what, that 'don't ask, don't tell' thing? Pff. Nobody pays attention to that."

"Really," said Sheppard.

"Anyway, this is different; this counts for everyone! We're going to be surrounded by soldiers with no sexual outlet. They're probably all super violent creepy weirdos. No offense."

"Lack of sex doesn't drive you crazy, Rodney. I don't care what you tell girls."

Rodney pointed at John dramatically, as though he were a horror movie monster. "You're one of _them_!" He turned back toward the portcullis. "That's it. I'm going with Teyla."

"Get back here," said John, grabbing him by the shoulder. "You're not here to get laid."

"Of course not, but it was always a possible side benefit."

"It's five days, Rodney. It's not like you're getting so much at home."

"How would you know?"

"Three reasons: Wednesday Game Night; Friday Night Golf; Die Hard Saturdays. Add in work and meals and I just don't think you have the time."

"Yeah? That says just as much about you as it does about me."

"I'm willing to take the hit to bring you down."

Rodney took some time to sulk quietly, and Sheppard pointedly ignored him, chatting with the guard about the Kalenna training regimen, which sounded horrible. Hours and hours a day of pure exercise. Rodney was there primarily as a technology expert, helping them repair and create new weapons and efficiently capitalize on the spare parts they'd captured from the Wraith. Sheppard had asked him to join the training at least part of the time--"You know, show the proper soldier-scientist spirit. If nothing else think of it as a personal favor to me"--Rodney had agreed, for no reason he could fathom except that he must have been high on coffee and puzzle-solving endorphins at the time.

A big group of soldiers were relaxing in the courtyard as they passed through. The short-haired blonde who'd caught Rodney's eye earlier was there, talking to another extraordinarily hot woman--willowy sun-bronzed body, cropped jacket closed tight over petite breasts, abs of steel, long black hair and bright green eyes. Rodney whimpered and grabbed John's arm. "Look! Look at the hot."

"Do you mind?" John shook him off.

But Rodney no longer had any intention of keeping his despair to himself. "I can't believe I'm trapped on the planet of the celibates!"

The guard laughed. "I never said we were celibate!"

"What do you--" Rodney broke off, speechless, as Not Carter leaned forward and locked lips with the raven-haired beauty. Green Eyes ran her hand through Not Carter's short hair, caramel lips eagerly sucking pink ones. Rodney swallowed. Okay, this--this was not appropriate for the workplace. This was porn! It was porn without the crass, badly-lit, gravity-and-credulity-defying-plastic-surgery quality. These women were real and beautiful and hanging all over each other and attacking each other's mouths and generally looking like they were two seconds away from stripping down right here in the middle of the courtyard, and damn, was it getting hot in here, out here?

Hazily, as if from a long way away, came John's cheerful voice: "Look at it this way, Rodney. I don't think you'd've had a shot with her anyway."

*

When the girls had finished kissing and Rodney could blink again, he became aware all at once that they were surrounded by muscled soldier-flesh, male and female, in various states of undress, and in various states of--not sex exactly, but lust. Hormones. Pairs of men and women--or rather, pairs of men and pairs of women--were petting each other affectionately, brushing knees and elbows, kissing open-mouthed.

"Oh my God," said Rodney. "It's so..."

"Spartan?" Sheppard suggested delicately.

In the corner of the yard two young men wrestled, puppy-like, and then fell into a heap, hands slipping inside uniforms. Watching it made Rodney feel weird, so he shifted his gaze back to the girls, who were now stroking each other's hands and whispering to each other, faces close, smiling.

One time when he was eleven Rodney had waited in line for hours to get his commemorative Leafs puck signed by Darryl Sittler and when he finally got to the head of the line, and there was just a flimsy card table between him and Darryl, he'd been struck with all kinds of weird thoughts: _I could punch him_, or _I could touch his hair._ Of course, he couldn't really. Even when they were only a few feet apart, there was still an invisible wall separating the child from the demigod. Rodney didn't really want to punch Darryl Sittler in the face, but knowing that he wouldn't, couldn't, even when it was physically possible for him to do so, was somehow intensely frustrating.

This was like that, but a hundred times worse. On the one hand, the girls were putting on a pretty excellent show, and he appreciated that, he did. But they were right here, so close, and so tantalizing, but so forbidden. Hitting on girls that were clearly into each other would be considered rude on any world. On this world... Well, he hadn't asked what the punishment was for heterosexual fraternizing, but the guard had been so shocked by the idea that it had to be something bad.

"God," Rodney repeated. "This is simultaneously my best dream and my worst nightmare."

"Why?" asked Sheppard. "Afraid you're going to get hit on by a guy?"

"What?" There was a new danger. He imagined himself rebuffing one of the men here, or attempting to. He couldn't imagine he'd be really successful in fending them off if they were really determined. All the soldiers here unnerved him in the same way Ronon had unnerved him for the first six to ten months he'd known him. Sure, the women here worked out just as hard as the men, and any one of them could undoubtedly take Rodney in fair hand-to-hand combat, but their power was hidden in a slender, pleasing package. The men were just huge. Their ability to crush you was just out there, visible for all to see. Rodney felt them milling all around him like jackals, and he was suddenly afraid--illogically, maybe, but viscerally. It was like high school all over again.

"I didn't even think of that!" Rodney moaned. "Do you really think I'll get propositioned?"

"Sure, Rodney," said Sheppard seriously. "You've got an awfully pretty mouth."

"Have I?" Rodney touched his lip, his fears momentarily forgotten in a careful consideration of this interesting possibility. "Really? No. You're messing with me. I do?"

"How would I know?" Sheppard leaned back and glanced downward appraisingly, clearly fighting back the telltale smile of Yes, Absolutely, So Messing With You. "Good ass, though."

"Oh, God, you're right!" Maybe Sheppard was teasing, but he'd hit on the honest truth. At that moment, Rodney cursed the gods for his objectively fantastic ass. He might have been safe from the clutches of the roving gay barbarians, who probably didn't find pudgy pale scientists particularly attractive as a rule, if not for its pleasing shapely grabbability.

"Relax, Rodney," said Sheppard, shifting his gun, and sounding annoyed now. Rodney hoped Sheppard wouldn't get so fed up he left him. He didn't want to be alone with these guys, who were looking more predatory with every passing moment. "Just say no."

"They'll think I'm straight!"

"You _are_ straight."

"Shhh!" Rodney waved his arms urgently, and stepped toward him--ostensibly for secretive huddling purposes, although really it made him feel safer to have Sheppard close at hand. "Not so loud! You want them to know that? They're going to stone us or something!"

"I think it's okay to _be_ straight as long as you don't act on it."

"But I want to," said Rodney. Not Carter and her girlfriend were kissing again, just short kisses now, in between brushing hair out of each other's eyes and fluttering their lashes at each other.

"That I can't help you with," said Sheppard.

Rodney was so focused on the girls that he didn't notice the hulking barbarian approaching until he was practically in Rodney's face, leering down at him. "You the guests? Soldier Jerol, first class. I'm to help you with your sleeping arrangements."

Rodney found himself acting on a plan before it had fully formed in his mind. He yanked Sheppard's hand to his chest and patted it clumsily. "We're together!"

Jerol didn't bat an eye. "Right. Let me check if we have a joined pair tent available for you. Back with you in a minute."

"What the hell was that?" Sheppard hissed, pulling his hand away.

"Sorry. I thought he was making a pass at me."

Sheppard hit him upside the head.

"Come on, 'sleeping arrangements'? Tell me you didn't think he was going to suggest 'in my pants'!" Rodney defended himself. "Anyway, you've got to agree, it's just good policy."

"Sleeping in his pants?"

"Pretending to be a couple. Listen, hear me out!" Rodney cut Sheppard off before he had a chance to say anything, because the idea was unfolding, and he was delighted by its newness and perfection. He explained hurriedly, "See, the men won't bother us because we're taken, and the women won't suspect us because we're supposedly gay. We'll fly in under their radar!" Rodney illustrated flying-under-the-radar with a complicated hand gesture, which amazingly didn't seem to convince Sheppard, so he repeated it for good measure.

Sheppard fixed Rodney with his patented your-plan-is-nutty-and-so-are-you stare, but before he could open his mouth, Rodney threw an arm around his waist, because Jerol had popped his head out from the main entrance to the fortress and was giving them a "just another minute" gesture. Rodney smiled broadly. Sheppard stood, stiff and motionless, in Rodney's embrace. When Jerol disappeared back inside, Rodney let him go, and Sheppard stepped away, releasing a deep breath, as if being so close to Rodney had caused him physical pain.

"Oh, come on," said Rodney, feeling annoyed, and, somewhat irrationally, hurt. "I'm thinking of you, too, you know. I may be a specialty taste for some of these guys, but you, you're like a walking pinup in this culture. Fighter, leader, prettyboy? You're going to be beating them off with sticks day and night. You know, unless you go about this with some careful planning and a little stealth, this culture could really throw your perfect Captain Kirk alien-girl bedpost-notch record."

"I don't have a--"

"What are you, homophobic?"

This seemed to throw Sheppard a little. "Wh--no! I just--"

"Whatever," said Rodney, disgusted. Sheppard was so cool, usually, that Rodney sometimes forgot he was an American. "I don't think--" But whatever Rodney didn't think escaped him as soon as he noticed the lesbians walking toward them. He threw Sheppard a desperate look. "Last chance."

"Oh, for. Give me that," Sheppard muttered, grabbing Rodney's hand. In a flash, Sheppard's body language changed from surly to friendly, and he greeted the girls with a sunny smile, swinging his and Rodney's clasped hands between them. He was really doing it! Rodney felt a surge of goodwill toward Sheppard, and he found himself squeezing his hand. It was such a natural response that it didn't occur to him for a moment to wonder whether it was something he would have normally done, or if he was just doing a good job of getting into character.

"You're the Atlantean guests, aren't you? Welcome to the city," said Not Carter. "I'm Rienn."

"Keia," said the black-haired girl.

"_Enchante_," Sheppard smarmed. "I'm John, and this here is _Rodney_." He drawled the name zealously. Rodney had to admit he was giving a surprisingly strong performance.

"Are you two--joined?" asked Rodney, trying out his new vocabulary.

The women looked at each other and smiled. "Not just yet," said Keia. "You?"

"Oh, absolutely," said John. "Just him and me, two for tea, right, sweetheart baby darling?" He reached over and briefly but firmly grabbed an ample handful of ass.

Rodney pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. He wanted to tell John to cut it out--surely the girls would see through an act this over-the-top--but they didn't seem fazed. Then again, they didn't know Sheppard as he usually was. Rodney composed himself and managed to nod. "Yes, yes indeed, that is how it is."

Keia smiled at them indulgently. "You make a pretty pair. I hope you fight as well as you make love."

"Sure. Well, _he_ does," said Rodney.

"Rodney's more of a lover than a fighter," said John, winking theatrically.

"I see," laughed Rienn. "Well, see you in the spar!" She waved as Keia led her off in the direction of the tents.

"Ta ta!"

"Yes! We're in. We're so in," Rodney crowed when they were out of earshot. "That's how you get the girls!"

"You... act gay," said Sheppard incredulously. Just like that, he'd turned back into himself.

"That's phase one," said Rodney. "Little known fact, girls are into gay guys."

"Even the lesbians?"

"Well, obviously they're only lesbians by necessity. Why else would they be making out with each other in front of us?"

"I don't know, Rodney. I can't think of a single reason," said Sheppard.

"Now we just wait for them to let their guard down, let us in their dressing rooms, tell us their secrets," Rodney babbled happily. "If they cry on our shoulders, we've already won."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "I bow to your obvious experience."

"I gotta hand it to you, Sheppard," said Rodney. "You were amazing. I never would have guessed that somewhere inside you there was a flamboyant homosexual dying to get out."

"Well, you know," Sheppard shrugged modestly. "I'm a pretty good actor."

*

Forty excruciating minutes of training was enough to convince Rodney that he was by no means a soldier-scientist, at least not by Kalenna standards. He was, in fact, just a scientist.

Rodney had always maintained that there were fundamental and important differences between running for your life and running for the sake of running; notably that the former was an activity he was perfectly willing--nay, eager--to do, given the appropriate circumstances, while the latter was a waste of time more likely to hinder than help his ability to succeed at the former. The same philosophy extended to sparring, only more so. The only person he trusted not to maim him in the all excitement of fake battle was Sheppard, but Keia made fun of him when he tried to choose John as his partner. There was no actual rule against sparring with your lover, but it was considered uncool, apparently. Sheppard didn't seem too keen on it, either. Maybe he was burning out on the gay game already.

When he made it back to the arms lab--a sad dingy room in the basement of the main fortress--Rodney was pleased to find that Rienn was one of the two scientists on shift. He only liked her more as the day wore on. She was no Carter, of course, and he might have become disillusioned with her if she'd been the only one there, but Sabin, her colleague, made such idiotic statements and took so long to understand anything that she looked brilliant in comparison.

For gun enthusiasts, the Kalenna sadly neglected their arms program. Their main philosophy seemed to be to capture as many Wraith weapons as they could, screw with them a little bit in a completely random and asystematic manner in a wrongheaded attempt at souping them up, get bored halfway through, and start shooting stuff. No two weapons were alike, and it seemed that a complicated system of social rank had developed based on who had the best gun. "That's stupid," Rodney told Commander Ayal when he stopped by to see how things we going. "By the end of my week here you'll all have the best gun." Ayal and Rienn grinned at each other, and Rodney could see that there was going to be no problem getting permission to work in the lab full time instead of going to any more horrible training sessions.

There was a lot to do. They'd have to plan ahead and be smart about spare parts so that the guns weren't all out of commission at once. Meanwhile, some of the trial-and-error experiments had produced unexpectedly effective results, so Rodney had to look at the top few weapons in close detail before even he decided on his ideal schematic. The first day flew by, and before Rodney knew it, John had arrived to fetch him for dinner.

Rodney needn't have worried that Sheppard was sick of the game. As soon as he walked in the door John flew to Rodney's side, crying, "There's my honey bear!" He draped his arm around Rodney's shoulder and asked Rienn, "Isn't he just the dreamiest?" Rienn smiled and nodded and Rodney bit the insides of his mouth to keep from laughing.

One thing you had to say for the Kalenna: they worked hard, and they played hard. The discipline on the training field had been perfect, but dinner was as unruly as a school cafeteria, only with more nudity. There was a lot of yelling and laughing and, of course, the obligatory homoerotic caressing. The feeling of being in the middle of some weird gay orgy porno was never so strong as here, with all the beautiful people gathered in one room feeling each other up. Still, Rodney felt more comfortable than he expected. Walking into a room full of lean and fit action-hero types (which happened distressingly often these days) usually made Rodney feel somewhat self-conscious, but he didn't mind so much with John on his arm. Colonel Sheppard had never had much trouble dominating any room he entered, prettiness-wise.

Dinner was decadent and delicious: assorted roasted animals, mugs of something dark and smooth and beery, buttery-tasting mixed vegetables, bowls of fruit which Rodney mainly avoided but which were plentiful, and, to top it off, ludicrously delicate little cakes for dessert. It was nothing like any army food Rodney had ever experienced, and when he complimented it, Keia seemed surprised. "Don't your farmers feed you well?"

"We don't really have farmers, per se," said Rodney.

Keia frowned like a schoolkid with a math problem.

"We have an especially good cook right now," said Rienn. "You should see him, he's really a genius in the kitchen--"

"Rienn's friends with the help," Keia rolled her eyes. "She's obsessed with food. She's always going off for midnight snacks."

"She really is the female you," John murmured.

Keia spent most of the meal in Rienn's lap, feeding her from her plate. John and Rodney pretended to compete with them, but they clowned around. Keia fed Rienn a juicy fruit; John offered Rodney a decidedly unsexy hunk of bread. Rienn licked juice off Keia's finger; Rodney grabbed John's hand and licked the crumbs off it, both to continue the competition and because freaking John out a little was part of the fun. But John wouldn't be freaked. He just put his other hand to his heart and gasped "Oh, Dr. McKay!" in a voice much more girlish than Rodney would ever have expected to hear from his mouth.

Then Keia leaned down and kissed Rienn. The two women pressed and slurped and massaged their lips against each other for exactly thirty-nine seconds, according to the count Rodney kept in his head while he stared in a happy stupor, and then drew back and sent a pair of challenging looks across the table. Rodney turned to John for help in figuring out how they were going to get out of this one, but John had a devilish half-smile and an eyebrow raised in a challenge. _Shall we?_

At that moment, Rodney's courage failed him. "I'm going to go get seconds," he announced, standing suddenly.

"He's shy," he heard John excuse him as he headed for the food line.

By the time he got back, Rienn and Keia had left, and Sheppard was leaning back against the wall. He wasn't acting like Rodney's Boyfriend John anymore, and there was a comforting familiarity to Plain Ordinary Sheppard that Rodney hadn't realized he missed until it returned. Sheppard didn't move when Rodney sat down next to him, just gave a little nod. He'd been sweat-shiny since Rodney first saw him, but it only now occurred to him that he must be tired after all that working out. "Hard day?" Rodney asked.

"Kinda," Sheppard admitted, which probably meant all his limbs were about to fall off.

"Poor baby." Rodney looked at him seriously and patted his shoulder. Sheppard smiled, and rolled his eyes a little, but rested his head down against Rodney, and relaxed.

Nighttime was strange. They walked shoulder-to-shoulder through the rows of tents, smiling at the other joined couples, but when they arrived at their own they dropped the act very suddenly. There were a lot of "Well"s and "Yes"s and manful coughs. Finally Rodney got into the bed, fully clothed, and scooched as far as he could to the canvas wall, and Sheppard alighted carefully on the opposite edge. They slept with their arms pressed stiffly to their sides. A third person could have easily stretched out between them on the narrow cot. Rodney woke up with a crick in his back.

Despite this minor misery, Rodney made good progress in the lab. He even managed to get the master design finished, once he banished his worthless soldier-scientist helpers to the other side of the lab to work on the menial busywork of cannibalizing nonfunctional weapons. Rienn showed up again in the afternoon, a welcome change from the morning's yahoos, and he let her help with the production of the prototype mega-gun. She was excited at first, and asked a lot of questions about the design, which seemed more intelligent than usual (that or Rodney's patience was enhanced by her low-cut top).

After a few hours of tedious tiny adjustments, though, conversation drifted. Rienn described the morning's training. Apparently John had kicked Keia's ass (Rodney puffed a little with reflected pride), and everyone, including Rienn, agreed that Keia had deserved it because of her trash-talk.

"How are things with you and Keia?" Rodney asked innocently, careful not to add, "Include detailed diagrams."

"Oh, you don't want to hear about my boring relationship."

Rodney considered protesting, but she was probably right. She probably wouldn't talk about sex anyway, just wallpaper patterns or date outfits or when and under what circumstances her lover annoyed her, and he was not sorry to miss out on that kind of talk. He sort of wished Rienn would come work for him and teach the rest of his science team her way of thinking.

"Can I ask you a question?" asked Rienn after a moment.

"Sure."

"Is it true about your world? Men go with women and women go with men?"

"Uh, not always, but, yeah, most of the time."

"So you and John are kind of special," said Rienn.

"Yeah," said Rodney, beginning to feel defensive. He could sense this conversation rapidly turning into a sort of fucked-up green card interview. "We are."

"How long have you been together?"

"Two years." It came out immediately and he had no idea why. He hoped that John was not being interrogated separately.

Rienn nodded slowly. "Have you ever been with a woman?"

Rodney hesitated. That was an awfully direct question for a lie-probing quiz, and Rienn didn't seem suspicious, really, just curious. "As a matter of fact, yes."

Rienn looked impressed, and asked, "Was she a warrior or a farmer?"

Huh. What did a civilian academic count as? Then again, botany. "Farmer," said Rodney, and laughed.

Rienn grinned, and then she laughed too, even though she couldn't possibly understand the joke. Maybe the idea of sleeping with a member of the farming class was just impossibly ridiculous.

Cries rang out over the courtyard. Training was finishing up.

"I wonder if you'd like to eat dinner with me again. In my tent this time, away from the crowd," Rienn suggested.

"You mean just you and me and John and Keia?"

"Yes, of course," said Rienn. "Just us four."

"Hm," said Rodney. It struck him that this might be a group sex invitation. He had to imagine mixed-gender orgies were a no-no here, but maybe it wasn't as bad as two-person heterosexual sex, just like the way being in a guy-guy-girl threesome wasn't as bad as just having sex with a dude. Could Rienn and Keia be hetero-curious? And, crucially, did the present circumstances permit him to accept such an invitation on John's behalf without asking first? He suspected that there was a line between fake public displays of affection and actual "adult situations," but this invitation, if indeed it was what Rodney suspected it was, might be their only chance to score on this world. Sure, it wasn't the way either of them would have planned it, but really, it might be better, with John there. Even in his fondest fantasies, Rodney could never shake the feeling that he might not be equal to the task of pleasuring two gorgeous Amazons at once. John would take some of the pressure off.

"Well," said Rodney.

The girls might expect them to do stuff to each other. On the one hand, if he were going to be touched inappropriately by any guy, John was clearly the one he wanted in the driver's seat. He trusted John, both to treat him well, and to make it look hot for the girls. He was one of those guys who could make anything look sexy, even inherently unsexy things like eating rice or delivering a PowerPoint presentation. Nobody would ever think less of you for having someone so dripping with sex on your love resume, male or female. But even though he thought he could endure anything John threw at him--with apparent pleasure, even--he didn't know how they could possibly keep up the charade that they'd done it all a thousand times before. He couldn't see himself, for example, just reaching into John's pants and grabbing his cock like it belonged to him. He'd be all awkward and deferential. Maybe they could pretend they were one of those bondage couples and John was his dominatrix. Dominator?

"I think," said Rodney, and before he had to follow that up with whatever it was that he thought, Sheppard walked in, looking even more wiped out today than he had the day before. Rodney felt with some measure of relief that his mind was made up for him. He made a big show of going to John and brushing his damp hair from his face, and cooing, "Aww, baby. You're beat."

"No, no, I'm good to go," John insisted unconvincingly, rubbing his eye. "I'm fine. Let's go. Dinner." He clapped his hands decisively, but seemed surprised by the noise.

"We're going straight home," said Rodney. "You just look so good, I can't wait another minute. I've got to get you into bed right now and..." When he started this mission he'd never have guessed his most taxing mental gymnastics would come in making up hypothetical gay sex acts. John mouthed something. "Ohhhh... Blow. Blow you! I'll blow you," Rodney interpreted happily. "Yes. Super. Can't wait to do that. The blowing." He waved goodbye to Rienn and ushered John out the door.

"I could've gone to dinner," said John as Rodney dragged him by the hand through the rows of tents and pairs of whooping, scuffling, semi-naked warriors.

"Since when do you like socializing with the natives?"

"I don't know. I understand it's good policy to make a public appearance every now and again on a diplomatic mission."

"Don't worry. I have no actual intention of performing oral sex on you."

"I wasn't worried."

"Besides, I think that gambit regained me some of the ground I lost by wimping out on the kiss last night. Sorry about that, by the way. I almost blew our cover. Pardon the phrase."

"Whatever. It's just a game, Rodney. You don't have to kiss anyone you don't want to."

"I didn't say I didn't--I mean, I don't care," said Rodney. "I can imagine worse things than kissing you. Death, for one. Being audited. Teaching undergrad. Spending time with Zelenka socially."

"Glad I'm not a fate worse than death," said Sheppard, rolling his eyes. "You know you can stop this anytime you want. Just say the word."

"I don't want to. Do you want to?" said Rodney too hastily. Subtext: _Don't leave me!_ God, he was pathetic. His crippling fear of abandonment extended even to fake relationships.

He wished he could be cool, like Sheppard, who even now was just shrugging and saying "I'm good," which was about the level of emotion this ridiculous situation deserved.

When they got to their little tent, they lay down side-by-side on the bed, and Rodney, eager to regain ground with John, gave him a series of increasingly complicated logic puzzles about princesses who always lied and princesses who always told the truth until his answers became incoherent and they both drifted to sleep.

*

Rodney was running ahead of schedule in the lab. Clearly, this state of affairs could not be permitted to continue. He didn't want to finish early and be left with conspicuous free time. So around mid-afternoon, he suggested begging off for the day, and asked Rienn to show him around. Maybe with a picnic lunch. She was happy to comply. As they walked along the river that separated the warriors' territory from the farmers' homesteads, she asked about mechanics, physics, chemistry, her questions becoming so broad and basic that Rodney decided to just sit her down and explain the universe from the ground up. She staunchly refused to believe in subatomic particles, but begged to hear more about them, listening with a look of incredulous horror.

Time flew faster than Rodney thought; before he knew it, Keia was striding down from the training arena, eager to tell her girlfriend what she'd missed in the day's battle. Mutual accusations of weakness of body and character (of which not training enough and training too much were both considered signs) commenced immediately, followed quickly by headlocks and vicious shoves to the ground. Love was expressed strangely on this world.

The ground by the river was soft and wet and the mud made Keia's top cling to her small but fascinating breasts. Rienn, the smaller and quicker of the pair, managed to stay dry until Keia leapt forward, catlike, and threw her down to the ground, pinning her, and at that moment Rodney felt warm hands slide over his ribs and up his chest and John's voice whispered warm in his ear, "Act like I'm telling you all the dirty things I'm going to do to you later."

"Oh... ummm," said Rodney, blushing. It wasn't, as it turned out, a difficult ruse.

"Mmm... Who would win in a fight," John murmured lasciviously, "Spider-man or the Hulk?"

"I, uh," said Rodney, struggling to focus. He wanted to say "In costume, or as Peter Parker and Bruce Banner, because it makes a difference," but that didn't sound like it could apply to a conversation about sex (except in a very very wrong world). Also, Spider-Man and the Hulk? What was it, Marvel Appreciation Day? In the sexiest voice he could muster, he said, "I don't see why we're limiting it to just those two options."

John smiled against his ear, and Rodney sat in readiness, hardly breathing, sure John was about to close his mouth over his earlobe, wondering what he would do when it happened. Wondering if now was his cue to tilt back and finally press his lips to John's--he still hadn't had the nerve to kiss him, but it almost felt natural now. Wondering if John would notice he was turned on, what he would think, if maybe John was hard too, whether he'd be able to feel that from this position.

It was just as well when John stepped back, clapping Rodney on the shoulder. "We should probably give those two their privacy."

The girls were writhing around in the shallow water in what now definitely looked like a friendly way.

"I suppose," said Rodney regretfully.

"Come on. I have plans for us tonight," said John cheerfully.

*

Rodney was actually kind of sleepy after his midafternoon snack, but he could hardly ask to turn in when John had been working out all day and he'd just been shooting the breeze with Rienn. John must have gotten used to the Kalenna regimen, because he was wired. Maybe there was Mountain Dew in the well. Or PCP. At any rate, he was raring to stay up late with his new fighting buddies.

John cajoled Rodney into joining a big group game after dinner, explaining that it was "kind of a couples thing." He made it sound like a polite after-dinner Boggle party. In reality, it was some kind of combination poker, quarters, and truth or dare, with an intense round of bets and bluffs with a set of dice under a cup determining who had to take a dozen free hits, make out, or chug. This was the kind of nonsense that a currency-free culture got up to.

As it turned out, it wasn't all couples. Sabin, the doofus from the lab, was single (Rodney could see why), as was Jerol. He was the one Rodney would have been eying with suspicion if John really were gay: wide-mouthed, strong-handed, and totally chummy with John. Apparently they were frequent sparring partners and fighting was good for bonding. (Which was also true of Rodney and John, except that their arguments were verbal, and mostly had to do with the relative efficacy of Star Trek captains.) As it was, Rodney was a little friend-jealous of him.

The other gamers took it easy on them the first few hands in light of their diplomatic standing and/or perceived weakness. Rodney was challenged to lift a marginally heavy rock (at which he succeeded, thank you very much). John, for the most part, had to get progressively more naked. Rodney made sure to let his eyes rove, for verisimilitude. In this company, John actually looked slightly geeky and weedy--thin where his competitors were buff, pale where they were tan, hairy where they were, for the most part, meticulously waxed and oiled. Still, Rodney honestly thought John was the best-looking one there. His beauty was less obvious, more genuine; graceful, balanced, with the ideal ratio of muscular to willowy. (Rodney did not say this aloud as he did not want to make the others feel bad about themselves and then beat him senseless.)

Within three hands, Rodney knew how to order and hedge his bets so that he never lost a round. John caught onto his strategy quickly, although he occasionally lost on purpose so they wouldn't get suspicious. (For his part, Rodney simply trusted in the consuming power of their stupidity.) There was a scary moment when Jerol was challenged to suck on Rodney's neck, but John objected with a loud growl, and everyone laughed, and the dare was taken back. Nobody asked them to violate the exclusivity of their precious relationship for the rest of the night, possibly because they were both black sheep in this company, or possibly because John put his hand on Rodney's knee, and left it there as a reminder.

*

In undergrad Rodney had one of those professors who concerned himself with teaching life skills as well as subject knowledge, and he made all the students give an oral presentation at the end of the term. Rodney didn't bother preparing his remarks since he could explain thermodynamics in his sleep. Indeed, he took the opportunity, during another student's presentation, to grab a surreptitious catnap, and dreamed an entirely new set of physical laws for the universe. When he later applied serious thought to the dream laws, he saw that they were ridiculous; but they were just vivid and convincing enough to linger when he snapped awake, and he kept second-guessing himself during his speech, pausing to comb his conclusions for insane dreamworld-based premises. The professor gave him an A- but recommended speech therapy.

When, on his fourth morning among the Kalenna, Rodney drifted slowly out of a very nice dream, serene and warm all over, it seemed totally natural that he should be lying with his arm slung over John's shoulder and only the thin fabric of his shorts between his erection and the small of John's back. He pressed his hips into John's warm back, ran a lazy fingertip over his stubbled jawline, traced along those lips he knew so well...

Except he didn't. Did he? Wait, what was reality?

John pressed his lips together and made a sleepy protest sound. Rodney yanked his arm back and rolled over so quickly he fell into a heap on the ground, nearly pulling the canvas wall off its moorings. John rubbed his face with his palm and blinked. "Wha..."

"I'm going to go wash up," Rodney announced, clambering to his feet.

It was still dark out and there was nobody at the bathing-house. Rodney pumped in a bucket of clean water and sat alone in the middle of the dark room, running water over his arms and legs. He didn't remember the specifics of the dream now--the overall storyline. Only snatches of random detail, and the deep, abiding, and entirely unearned appreciation for John.

They should have never stopped wearing all their clothes to bed. Sure, it was hot out, and sure, they'd managed to make it the first three nights without anything untoward happening, but it was bound to go wrong. They acted these roles all day, and his higher brain knew perfectly well it was just playacting, but his body had learned some kind of instinctual pull toward John's. Classical conditioning, right? Rodney had once convincingly (if he did say so himself) denounced the idea that intelligent, evolved humans such as himself could be trained like dogs, and Zelenka's subsequent attempt to get him to salivate whenever he heard Darth Vader's Imperial March had been unsuccessful, but that didn't mean it wasn't theoretically possible.

The dream had had something to do with superheroes, maybe--John as Batman? Except when he was the Riddler? The memory was slippery. He just kept coming back to the day before, and John's voice whispering "Spider-Man or the Hulk?" Watching Rienn and Keia tumble around in the surf had been pleasing, yeah, but it had been the unexpected warm pressure of John's hands on his body that had really set him off, and that should have been a warning sign right there.

John should have known better than to provoke him while he was watching a girlfight. How would he have liked it if Rodney had turned and made out with him, as he almost did? If he'd pushed John to the ground, yanked off his shirt? Would John have stopped him? How far would he play along? He wasn't getting any either; maybe he'd want it, too. Maybe he'd get that flash in his eyes like when he was going in for the kill, pull Rodney down on top of him, thrust a warm tongue into his mouth. Or maybe he'd get that look like he did when he was flying, and you could see the whole universe reflected in his eyes, and he'd spread his magic hand over Rodney and make him glow. He'd slip his hand down, over Rodney's hip, under his waistband, and it would feel so good, so achingly, relievingly good, because his cock would be sensitive and yearning from a week of endless teasing and tension, just like it was now.

It was no longer acceptable that he hadn't come in a week; he didn't bother thinking twice, or worrying if anyone would come in, or edging himself up to draw out the moment, just jerked himself hard and fast until he came, collapsed against the wall, and immediately felt disgusted with himself. He had actual lesbian mud-wrestling mental images and he'd spent his precious jerk-off minutes thinking about hypothetical sexy Sheppard?

Maybe there was something in the water here, or the food. He'd been eating a lot of the food. He knew those little cakes (fairy cakes!) were too good to be true. Really, there was no other way to explain the percentage of people here who were attracted to the same sex, i.e. all of them. Situational homosexuality couldn't be that common, or people in prison or prep school or the army would just be fucking each other all the time.

(Maybe they were. Were they? He'd have to ask John. Rodney himself had been in strongly male-dominated isolated research post situations before, but there had always been at least a couple of women, and anyway he had never taken much of an interest in the other scientists' social lives. There could have been big gay orgies going on, he supposed, that he just wasn't invited to.)

Maybe he should go easy on himself. He was basically a walking pressure tank of sexual tension at this point, and it had to come out somehow. Here he was, surrounded by asskicking babes who _made out with each other_ and whom he could look at all he liked but never, ever touch; never alone long enough to get himself off; constantly touching John in more and more inappropriate ways in their escalating game. John's touches were the closest he got to any kind of sexual satisfaction, so it was no wonder he'd learned to respond to them. Long for them. He'd just chalk this up to temporary insanity.

It was getting light out, and the soldiers were beginning to wander out of their tents for their morning pre-training training. As the first few bathers undressed in the anteroom, Rodney carefully re-dressed in his boxers and T-shirt walked out with his head held high.

The tent was empty--Sheppard must have gone for a run or something--so Rodney put on real clothes and went to the lab. His work was pretty much done. It was basically just a boring assembly line at this point. Just to pass the time, he dragged out some sideline experimentation, even though he knew he wasn't likely to get a better weapon than the one he'd designed. But he'd found a couple of little Ancient devices, nothing special, just trinkets stolen off a couple of Wraith who'd stolen them somewhere else, and since the Kalenna didn't have the gene, he thought he'd try and use them to make a special gun for--well, for anyone who could use it back on Atlantis.

He managed to hole himself up in the lab all day, working straight through dinner. It was remarkably easy convincing Rienn to fetch snacks for him (she was such a good helper). By the time dusk rolled around, the morning's worries seemed far away and ridiculous. What had he thought, that he was turning gay down on this planet? Not likely. Sure, if he was going to be attracted to any man, John was a good bet. Rodney was secure enough in his heterosexuality to admit that John was, objectively, attractive. Slender and lean and ridiculously pretty-faced and fuckable. Objectively! Objectively fuckable. Not by him, but by someone.

He was over it now. He'd just needed a break from the confusing game, and now he was good to go. When he saw Sheppard again he would just see his friend, and he would want nothing more than to drag him into private so they could have high-minded intellectual conversations and not touch. With utter confidence he strode out to the field.

Down at the gladiatorial arena of horribleness, John was giving an after-dinner karate tutorial. When he caught sight of Rodney approaching his face lit up. Rodney warmed with a gooey friendly feeling, even though he knew John was (a) acting and/or (b) glad for an excuse to rest. He pushed his damp hair out of his eyes, hopped over the short stone wall, and strode out to meet him. Rodney picked up speed, heart beginning to pound. That moment of anxiety was approaching, when he'd have to decide once again how he was going to greet his "lover".

The other warriors barely gave them a glance, what with all the jackets and shirts to gather up, water to drink, and opponents to shake hands with. Even Rienn and Keia, usually their most attentive audience, were busy examining a scrape on Keia's arm. After four days, the newcomers' novelty seemed to have finally worn off.

John must have noticed the lack of audience, or else he'd noticed Rodney's conspicuous absence during the day, because he didn't make any attempt to play the game tonight. Just said, "Hey," and fell into step with Rodney, like they were themselves.

Halting his train of thought at the station before he talked himself out of it, Rodney turned, took John's face in his hands, and jammed their mouths together. There!

He was going for a short but decisive "mwah" kiss, but John didn't cooperate. His lips parted, in surprise, perhaps, and Rodney, inspired, widened his mouth, and, on a whim, slipped him a little tongue. John made a strange ragged noise, and his hands gained purchase on Rodney's back. Rodney slid his hand gently back, running his thumb over John's jaw, slipping his fingertips into John's hair. With a jolt he felt John's tongue running the length of his.

Rodney's hands, no longer in his conscious control, dropped down to John's shoulders and then away; and then, finally, they drew away from each other. John's expression was completely indecipherable but his mouth was red and wet and his breath was coming in gasps, just like Rodney's.

The perfect kiss and nobody was even looking at them, but Rodney didn't care anymore. He hadn't kissed John for anyone else but himself. Maybe men didn't do anything for him but this wasn't men; this was John; John did it for him. John had done it for them from the moment they started this game; from the first moment, quite possibly, that he watched John slink around his Antarctica lab and effortlessly light the world. And it was time to admit it.

*

On the friendship betrayal spectrum from cafeteria tray raiding to facial stabbing, Rodney wondered how wrong it was to sit in front of a bonfire wearing John's jacket and clutching his hand with genuine, schoolgirlish glee. The Kalenna, pumped after the presentation of the new power rifles, had thrown together a party. (First they'd thrown together an impromptu target practice sessions, but the party followed immediately after, and partially overlapping. Rodney felt that this was a recipe for disaster and he was glad when Commander Ayal instructed them to sheathe their weapons for the night and concentrate on enjoying themselves.) Some of the warriors played loud percussive instruments; some did obscene grinding dances with heavy emphasis on energetic pelvic thrusts; some carried barrels down from the mess; some simply drank. Rodney and John fell into the latter category. They sat in the place of honor by the fire, accepting gifts (mostly free drinks, and a few third-best weapons), and chatting with the warriors that streamed by between dances to thank them and admire their perfect-couple cuteness.

So. He wanted Sheppard. It was surreal, but not really upsetting, nor even surprising. Like most of Rodney's best ideas, it had been quietly brewing in his brain for some time, so that by the time it reached his conscious thoughts it immediately seemed beyond obvious.

He wanted Sheppard, and he had him, sort of. Only in public, of course, and only for tonight and tomorrow morning until they left. On Atlantis it would probably raise a few eyebrows if he casually leaned over and planted quick kisses on John's temple, as he was periodically doing now. This made him feel a little presumptuous, but, to be fair, John had started it. He'd even given Rodney a second, albeit considerably briefer, kiss on the lips toward the beginning of the party. The kissing barrier was obliterated, and it felt glorious.

Still, Rodney was fidgety. His desire was intensifying by the moment now that he wasn't burying it in denial. It was a lot of pressure, knowing he only had this evening, and he'd have to get the most out of it he could or hate himself forever.

He nudged John. "Want to dance?" Rodney wasn't much of a dancer, but they'd already taken the "when in Rome" thing this far, and he wanted to _do_ something.

"Uh..." John squinted at the dancers, who were now doing a kind of semi-synchronized quadrille kind of thing that involved certain dancers shimmying backwards onto the ground at particular times and others jumping on top of them. "Maybe later."

Fair enough. He'd been wondering where the line was.

"Hi, boys," came a shaky female voice. Rienn was standing over them, making a somewhat unsuccessful attempt to smile. "I just wanted to say, if I don't see you both tomorrow, it's been really great getting to know you. Thanks for everything." She clasped Rodney's shoulder briefly, and then walked off, rubbing her eyes.

"I think she might be upset," John surmised.

"Who wouldn't be?" said Rodney. "We're leaving."

"Times like these I wish Teyla were here. Whenever I try to comfort anyone I just end up making them feel worse."

"You got that right," said Rodney. He'd once come to John with a list of extremely compelling evidence that he had contracted a deadly plague indigenous to a world very recently visited by one of the other away teams. All John would say was "Well, stay away from me, I don't want to catch it. Wait, you didn't reset your passwords, did you? In case you die." Rodney had gone back to the lab and changed them all out of spite, so that John would be sorry at the funeral, but then he thought better of it and changed them back.

Rodney stood, puffing out his chest. "_I'll_ comfort her."

"Oh, this'll end well," said John.

Rodney kicked him.

*

He found Rienn fiddling angrily with the toggles on the flap of her tent.

"Hey," he said awkwardly.

"Hi, Rodney." She sniffed. "I'm a little--not very good company right now. You should go back. Be with--be with John." She barely got out the name.

"Whatever. I can see him anytime. Do you want company?" Rodney pushed her hands away, undid the toggles easily, and felt like a stud.

Rienn crawled into the tent and curled up on a sumptuous purple blanket. She patted the space beside her.

Rodney compliantly joined her, looking around. Their tent looked a lot bigger on the inside--certainly a lot bigger than his and John's. Instead of a bulky cot they just had lots of cushy blankets on the floor. Everything draped in soft cloth and pillows and smelled slightly of spruce. A small lantern in the corner radiated dim, pinkish light. It was like being in a new age massage parlor, or a womb.

"I just, I don't know about me and Keia," said Rienn, hugging a pillow.

"Really? Wow. It seemed like you were having fun at the riverbank the other day." A weird possibility occurred to Rodney. "Was that--hey, is all that just an act?"

"No, we were having fun. I do love her. I love her so much. Sometimes we seem like we're practically the same person, you know?" She smiled sadly. "But then other times it seems like we don't understand each other at all." She sighed. "Tell me, Rodney. What's your secret?"

"My secret?" There were so many to choose from.

"You and John. You seem so in love, even after two years. Or is that not the case?"

"No, no, of course it's the case. You want to know my secret for relationship success? Easy. The key to a relationship is..." He racked his brain for anything anyone had ever said to him on the subject. The problem was that relationship advice had never really been particularly relevant to him; he'd dated girls, but not for longer than a year or so, and he'd never put much stock in anyone else's opinion.

"Communication," he said finally, settling on something he thought he'd heard Teyla mention at some point. "You have to be open and honest. You can't keep secrets from each other." Ha. "And great sex, of course!" Double ha.

That got a smile, anyway. "You're right." Rienn nodded slowly. "Of course you are. I'll do my best." She opened her arms and embraced him. "Thank you, Rodney. You have been a good friend to me."

"No problem," said Rodney.

She actually seemed cheered. So there, John, Rodney thought smugly. Then he bid her goodbye, because he might as well quit while he was ahead.

*

The party was still swinging, and John was still parked in front of the fire. The accumulated stress of the week must have been finally catching up with him, because he was practically nodding off into his beer. Damn. Rodney had hoped to keep him out all night and hang on him. Yes, yes, it was very wrong, but tomorrow it would be all over so he might as well enjoy it while he could.

"Look alive, Colonel," said Rodney, removing the precariously hanging goblet from his slack grip.

"I'm just resting my eyes," said John without opening his eyes.

Rodney had only been bisexual for half a day but even he knew it was mean to force your boyfriend to party with you all night when he was hurting from a fifty-hour workweek of sparring with bodybuilders, even if he was only your fake boyfriend. "You want to cut out?"

"Nah. It'd be rude to go now."

"So we'll be rude. That's kind of my specialty."

Rodney put an arm around John's shoulder and led him off to the tents amidst cheers from the assembled partygoers, who clearly assumed they were slipping off, like some of the others already had, to cap off the night's excitement with some white-hot fucking. If only.

They walked with their arms slung over each other the whole way, even though they seemed to be alone by the time they got to their tent. (The warriors seemed to prefer to engage in exhilaration-sex in unusual locales.) It was probably for the best. They'd both had a little more to drink than was perhaps necessary.

"There you go, now, isn't that nice?" Rodney cooed as he deposited John onto the cot. He couldn't explain why the beer seemed to have made him matronly and vaguely Scottish, but it was beyond his control. "Under the covers, there you are." He shrugged out of his jacket and stretched out next to John.

"Thanks, Rodney." John smiled sleepily and lolled into Rodney's space, and then his lips were slipping hotly over Rodney's mouth. It was a moment before Rodney even realized there was anything wrong with this picture, and several more before John did, and in the interval the following thoughts passed through Rodney's head:

1\. John wanted him too! 2. Well, of course. Where had he gotten the absurd assumption that John wouldn't want him too? 2(A). They were best friends. Practically the same person. 2(B). Rodney was an attractive guy and had, by all accounts, a good ass. 3. Straight? Pshaw. 3(A). Why would a straight guy ever agree play this game? 3(A(a)). Even Rodney was driven by secret lust. 3(B). Aforementioned "good ass" comment. 3(C). Waaaay too good at "playing" gay. 3(C(a)). "sweetheart baby darling" 3(C(b)). "Ta ta!" 3(C(c)). "I'm a pretty good actor." 4. Hooray!

John froze against his mouth. Rodney took the hint and pulled back. "Ah..." he began.

"Sorry," John mumbled. "I forgot."

Rodney had his thoughts together now and knew exactly what he wanted to say; and what actually came out of his mouth, while considerably less eloquent than planned, got the job done. "Fuck me!" he said.

John frowned, misunderstanding. "Hey, no need to get upset..."

"No, no, really!" Rodney bounced happily on the cot. "We're here, we're queer, I guess, we're a little drunk so we can blame it on that later if need be, it's our last night on Gayworld, and everyone thinks we're fucking anyway, so let's fuck!"

Now John was awake, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He blinked. Cautiously he said, "Cut it out, Rodney."

"Oh, come on, John, you don't have to pretend with me. Not here. I know you're attracted to me. I'm saying I'm attracted to you too. It's perfect! Now we can be all 'what happens on Kalenna stays on Kalenna' about it if you want, but if so, that's all the more reason not to waste another minute. Come on, now, get with the program." And with those admittedly unromantic words (paired with some equally unromantic snaps) he planted on hand on John's bicep, another on his thigh, and leaned forward.

Then there was a sharp pain in Rodney's chest and he went tumbling to the floor, nearly taking the whole tent down with him. He looked up, betrayed, at John, who stood over him, breathing, looking fearsome and fearful.

"Sorry," said John after a tense moment, "but even you have to admit you were asking for it."

Rodney sulkily checked his mouth and nose for blood. There was none. "I don't understand," he moaned. "I'm right! I know when I'm right and I'm right that you want me. Nothing else makes sense."

"Nice humility," John muttered, rubbing his hair.

"Please." Rodney scrambled to his feet. "I can see right through you. This right here, _this_ is the act! Come on. Tell it to my face. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not attracted to me."

John looked him in the eye. "I'm not attracted to you."

"Oh," said Rodney.

*

Rodney trudged through the rows of tents, shoulders slumped. The soldiers' living quarter had felt so private earlier, just him and John, but now he could see and hear evidence of plenty of couples screwing in their tents. He was the loneliest man on the planet. He shivered. And to top it all off he'd left John's jacket in the tent.

It didn't make any sense. But then people in general didn't make sense, and John was, classically, among the least predictable.

It was possible, of course, that John was dealing with the exact same set of confused motives and epiphanies that Rodney had got over in lightning speed. He was just not as logical and perspicacious and therefore still believed his own self-deluding bullshit. If John had called him on it the day before, just gone up to him and said "You want me, so come on and fuck me," what would Rodney have said then? Well, obviously he would have considered John's point carefully and conceded its truth, and thenceforth fucking should have commenced; but not everyone was as eminently reasonable as he.

Then again, maybe John was so much less mentally complicated than Rodney that he didn't even have confused motives and self-deluding bullshit. Maybe he genuinely had agreed to go along with the game because Rodney had asked him to and because it was a lark. Maybe he didn't need actual underlying desire; maybe for him, fucking with people's heads was motive enough. It was difficult for Rodney to judge the relative complexity of other life forms' thought processes since his own were so advanced. He kicked a rock.

Where could he go now? He was exiled from his tent. The party was still going on down at the arena, but he didn't feel like sitting alone among the couples, getting asked "Where's John?" He also didn't really feel like going to Jerol and explaining that he needed a new tent.

He thought maybe Rienn would be able to come up with something, but her tent was dark and still. He remembered Keia saying that she liked to go to the mess at night for snacks, and he realized he was terribly hungry. Nothing like attempting to jump your best friend and getting horrifically shot down to fuel the appetite.

The mess was dark and empty, the energy lamps extinguished and the long tables cleared of their usual bowls of bread and fruit. Between concern for disturbing Sheppard's sleep and plain exhaustion, Rodney hadn't attempted to score any midnight snacks while he was here, and he wasn't quite sure of the protocol. The underclass, the farmers, were always walking back and forth at mealtimes, carrying heavy platters from behind a partition at the back of the room, so Rodney headed in that direction. He wondered if there would just be food out, or if he'd have to rifle through the stores, and whether that was quite allowed. Then, if he were caught, it would probably be by one of the servants, and they probably didn't have the authority to get him in trouble.

He rounded the partition into the kitchen and jumped. He was not alone. At the other end of the dark room, a couple was quietly fucking. The woman was perched on a table with her back to Rodney. The man, a pale, angular scarecrow, braced his skinny arms against a bar of hanging pans behind her. Short low grunts escaped the woman's lips. Something pinged Rodney as wrong about this scenario, but it took him another moment to remember he hadn't seen anyone brazenly flaunting their heterosexuality since he arrived. Definitely a no-no for warriors, but he guessed it was all right for the farmer class, of which this man was clearly one.

He was debating asserting his God-given right as a technical honorary member of the warrior class and demanding food vs. politely giving the straight people their privacy when the woman's face turned and Rodney recognized Rienn.

There was no question of getting a snack now. He desperately wished he could unsee what he'd seen. He did the next best thing and turned and fled.

Just outside the door to the mess he crashed headlong into Sheppard. John put an arm out to help him, but then stepped back and let him dust himself off on his own.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," said Rodney stiffly.

"Thought I'd find you here." John put his hands in his pockets. "Find anything?"

Rodney jumped. "What?"

"To eat."

"No. No, there's nothing in there. Complete waste of time," said Rodney. Not that he distrusted John, exactly, but he figured the fewer people in on Rienn's extracurricular activities, the better.

"Listen," said John. "I shouldn't've hit you."

"Uh... that's okay," said Rodney. "I shouldn't've." He stopped, unable to come up with a suitably euphemistic way to end the sentence on short notice.

"You can come back if you want. Sleep." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and headed back toward the tents. Rodney briefly considered refusing the charity, but he really didn't have anywhere else to go, so he ran to catch up.

Sensing that it was going to be another night like their first here, the only undressing Rodney did was to empty his pockets before he scrunched up on the far edge of the cot, trying his best to become two-dimensional. John didn't make the same effort. When he lay down Rodney felt the warmth of his body pressing solidly against his back. He wasn't exactly spooning, but neither was he trying to maintain distance. Rodney turned to him to talk to him, or at least try and interpret his expression, but he was facing in the other direction. His back was bare.

This was a confusing fucking planet.

*

They were wakened before dawn by commotion outside. Voices, shouting. A thump and an anguished cry. Rodney looked over. John was just waking up himself. He rubbed his eye, glanced at Rodney, and shrugged. They climbed out of bed.

A crowd had gathered near Keia and Rienn's tent. John and Rodney pushed to the front and found Keia was slamming Rienn into the ground. Rienn was making only a cursory effort to struggle, blood and tears streaming down her face. Keia pulled up her head by the hair and hissed in her ear. "Slut!"

She yanked Rienn to her feet and threw her backward. "Breeder!"

Rienn landed at the feet of one of the spectators, who simply shoved her roughly back into the ring at Keia.

"Hey, hey, hey, now!"

John had entered the ring. He tried to pull Keia off Rienn, but Keia, hardly breaking the time of her punches, just flicked her arm back, elbowing him in the face. John dodged, but just a moment too late, so that her blow bruised the side of his face instead of bashing his nose in. She clearly expected him to be down for the count, so she wasn't expecting it when he threw his arms around her neck. He managed to pull her back a few steps before she ducked underneath him, flipping him over her shoulder. With her rage turned to John, Rodney slipped to Rienn's side to examine her injuries. She curled into a fetal ball and turned her head against Rodney's knee, shielding her dirty tear-streaked face from the others.

"What is the meaning of this?" thundered a voice. Commander Ayal pushed through the crowd, looking even more frighteningly stern than usual, the scar over his eye bulging. He leapt into the fray and wrapped his arms tightly around Keia, binding her.

"Commander Sheppard!" Ayal sounded like a disappointed parent. "Perhaps you are not aware that we limit our sparring to the arena!"

John stepped back, panting, and wiped a trace of blood from his eye.

Keia struggled, and Ayal let her go. "It's her!" She thrust an accusatory finger at Rienn. "She fucks men!"

All eyes were now on Rienn as she pathetically pushed her way up. Rodney just knelt there, feeling useless and stupid, wondering if it would be better or worse for her if he tried to help her, and resisting the urge to jump away lest he, too, be labeled a dirty heterosexual.

Ayal's expression turned from garden-variety storm cloud to horrendous nightmarescape. The scar throbbed mesmerizingly. "Violation of kya-nde-ki is a serious accusation."

"I accuse her!" said Keia.

"You have been accused," Ayal told Rienn. She was still on her hands and knees, pathetically bleeding into the dirt, but she managed to nod acknowledgment.

"Are you guilty?"

"You don't have to answer that," Rodney advised, even though he had no reason to believe there was such a thing as Miranda rights on this world.

She shook her head. "It's okay, Rodney." She got herself to a kneeling position and looked defiantly up at Ayal. Rodney braced himself. Rienn declared in as strong a voice as could be expected from a woman with bleeding jaw, "I am innocent."

Huh, thought Rodney.

"Very well. You will be escorted to the chamber of questioning. Are there any enforcers present?"

Some hardened thugs stepped forward from the assembled gawkers. Rodney put a protective arm around Rienn's back, and John joined him at Rienn's other side. "We'll take her."

Ayal frowned disapprovingly, but he didn't forbid it, just turned and began walking up the hill.

Rodney and John helped Rienn to her feet. She tried to break free and walk on her own, but instead she stumbled to the ground and retched.

"Quickly!" Ayal commanded.

"Come on. No arguing." John swept Rienn into his arms and carried her, wedding-style. She made noises of protest at first, but then relaxed gratefully into his embrace. Rodney tried not to feel jealous.

He ran to catch up with Ayal. "What are you going to do to her?"

"She will be questioned. If she is found guilty, she faces death. If she admits to her crime, and begs forgiveness, or if it determined that she has been defiled by force, she shall merely be exiled, and shall never longer bear the title of warrior."

"Jesus." Rodney glanced back at John and Rienn. They were close enough to hear, but neither seemed surprised.

Ayal shook his head. "I am sorry you had to witness this unfortunate incident, and on your last night here, which should have been joyous. But it serves as a reminder of the importance of discipline in our ranks." He eyed Rodney reproachfully, the way he had when he first saw Teyla's stomach.

The mob followed them to the fortress, but most were not allowed into the chamber of questioning; only a handful of enforcers, John because he was carrying Rienn, and Rodney, who was perhaps permitted as an attache of John. Ayal sat in an ornate chair and nodded at the floor in front of him. John carefully placed Rienn down on the ground (the enforcers snorted at his gentleness) and squeezed her shoulder encouragingly before stepping back.

"Leave us."

The enforcers marched out, and, after Rienn sent them a reassuring wave, John and Rodney reluctantly followed. It was called the chamber of questioning, not the chamber of kicking-you-when-you're-down, but Rodney still felt weird leaving her alone. Rodney tried to listen at the door after Ayal closed it, but it was thick, solid wood, and the walls were thick, solid stone. No sound escaped.

The crowd was still gathered outside, poised, waiting. Rodney leaned wearily against the fortress wall. John stood next to him and, after a moment, quietly took his hand. Rodney looked around, unsure how to react. This didn't seem like the time or place. Then again, they'd probably lost some militant-homosexual points by showing such sympathy to Rienn. Hadn't they started the game in the first place ostensibly to divert this kind of suspicion? But it felt hateful to use it so calculatingly now. Rodney extricated his hand.

Keia was yammering her story to anyone who'd listen, from which Rodney roughly reconstructed what must have actually happened. Keia had left the party and headed up toward the mess (looking, she was sure to tell everyone, for a present for her erstwhile lover). Rienn had emerged, looking preoccupied, her uniform in a state of disarray. Keia had asked her what was wrong, thinking she might have gotten into a fight. Rienn had hesitated, and then asked Keia if she could keep a secret. "Of course," Keia had said. "You can trust me with anything." So Rienn had pulled her into their tent, and told her. Keia's description of Rienn's sexual encounter with the farmer man was told with a level of lurid detail that could only be embellished. Rodney doubted Rienn had gotten very far into her explanation before Keia starting beating her up.

Rodney crossed his arms and tried to look disbelieving.

Ayal emerged from the chamber of questioning. Rodney was pleased to note that his uniform did not look any more blood-spattered than before. He called Keia in, and she flew to the door, anxious to deliver her testimony.

Ayal looked around the assembled mob. "Is anyone in possession of any further evidence?"

There was a silence. Ayal looked right at Rodney. What the hell? Rodney blushed and sweated. John followed Ayal's gaze and looked at Rodney quizzically.

"Suppression of evidence is a serious offense," Ayal rumbled, "punishable by pain."

A warrior's definition of "pain" was certainly several levels more intense than Rodney was comfortable with. His leg began to twitch. For God's sake, relax, he ordered himself There was no way to prove he knew anything; only Rienn and her boyfriend could have seen him, and Rienn had a vested interest in his silence, and the boyfriend wasn't even being consulted at this trial. Of course, John had seen him at the mess...

"Can anyone suggest a person, present or not, who may be in possession of further evidence?"

Rodney glanced surreptitiously at John. He was looking straight ahead.

"Very well," Ayal told the silent crowd. "Keia, your evidence will be taken. Anyone with any further information should come to us immediately. I will deliver my verdict at tomorrow's morning meal."

The crowd made noises of disappointment as Ayal and Keia disappeared inside. They must've been used to instant judicial action while-u-wait. As the soldiers dispersed, heading back to their tents to get some sleep or get off on Keia's stories, Rodney stayed where he was. John remained with him. Finally when they were more or less alone, Rodney broke under the pressure of John's suspicious glances, and said quietly, "Well, obviously she's guilty."

"Obviously," said John. "So you did."

"So I did wh--Oh God, it wasn't _me_!" Rodney whisper-yelled. "Is that what you think? No! John. No."

"You sure?"

"Am I sure? Of course I'm sure. What? First of all, when would this alleged tryst have occurred? Between when you kicked me out of bed and when you came and got me again, I had exactly enough time to go to the mess, walk in on her and her cook or whatever, and leave, and I know this because that's what I did. I'm not that fast. Ask any of my exes."

"Well, I don't know. You could have done it anytime. At the labs or anything."

"Well, I didn't," said Rodney.

"Okay," said John.

"Okay," said Rodney. Then, "You really think I could have?"

John just stared.

"Okay, okay, sorry, not the time," Rodney conceded. "So what's the plan? What do we do next?"

"Leave," said John. "Thank God."

"Ah, you meant to say 'help her first and then leave', right?"

"Help her how?"

"I don't know. Get her off this fucking planet."

"What, you want to bring her back to Atlantis with us? Make her your right-hand woman?"

Rienn had such a fertile mind that Rodney had, in fact, daydreamed about hiring her to do menial work in the labs, but it wasn't really a possibility. Her intellect shone bright among the duds on Kalenna. At home, she'd seem a pretty weak bulb.

Still, John's scorn was unwarranted. "You got Ronon," Rodney pointed out.

"Yeah, but I don't want to sleep with Ronon."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," said John. He concluded, somewhat off-topic, "I just don't think we should get involved."

"What? What is this, some misguided attempt to invoke the prime directive? We've already sold them arms, you nimrod."

John shrugged. "It's like Teyla said. This is their way of life."

"Oh my God," said Rodney. "She could be killed because she fell in love with the wrong person in a society that would never approve! I know you find that hard to relate to, being the poster boy for mainstream sexuality, but still. Surely you can find it in your heart to have some kind of compassion here. Haven't you seen _West Side Story_?"

"No," said John irritably. "And don't call me Shirley."

Rodney was ready for him. "Joey," he said tensely, "have you ever seen a grown man naked?"

John made a "you've gotta be kidding" face, but Rodney didn't back down. John looked away, and, finally, sighed.

"Fine. Whatever. Go offer her asylum."

"Yes!" Rodney grinned. "I love being the deus ex machina."

*

"I didn't do anything."

Rodney looked longingly at the stone wall opposite. Trying to talk to it, or possibly even to John, would be easier. Even after a patient explanation of why Rodney knew her exact level of guilt and why he didn't care one way or the other, Rienn was sticking to her story.

"Well, it was nice knowing you," said Rodney.

"You too," said Rienn politely.

Rodney sighed. "Listen, I told you, we're alone. Nobody can hear us. Eavesdropping at this door is an exercise in futility, I should know, and I would have seen energy devices on my scan. You can be straight with me. Uh, truthful."

"I didn't do--"

"Okay, fine," Rodney snapped. "I don't care. Just come with us. We can find you a place to live--a good one. Both of you, if you want. You can be with him, for real. No more hiding."

Rienn stared at the table. Her face was swollen to chipmunk proportions, and she looked lost and forlorn. Rodney thought maybe he was getting through.

"And hey," he said. "You can go on being a warrior if that's what you want."

"Not a Kalenna warrior," said Rienn with new conviction. "This is my home." Her eyes flashed, and for a moment she resembled her commander, what with the slashes across her face that would certainly scar if not stitched, which they wouldn't be, because Rodney hadn't seen a single medic anywhere, and anyway, they were probably a point of irrational pride.

"Well, it's a sucky home," said Rodney. "They're going to punish you for being who you are. And for what? There's nothing wrong with who you are. Who you are is great."

"I know," said Rienn reverently. "I am a Kalenna warrior."

"Terrific," Rodney sighed. "Don't come crying to me when you're dead."

*

"Okay, she won't come, but we should probably still make the offer to the guy. I don't know his name, and I only saw him for like a second, so I don't know if I'd recognize him, but we can just go over to the farmers' side and ask for the guy who scored with the warrior. They're probably making him their king if they're not lynching him."

"No need," said John. "I just talked to Ayal. They're going to find her innocent."

Rodney breathed out a long sigh of relief.

"I said our goodbyes, too, so we can bail whenever you're ready. What's that?"

"Hm? Oh." Rodney held out the long box he was holding under his arm. "I stopped by the lab. This is for you."

John eyed the box suspiciously as they walked down the hill and out to the meadow where the jumper was cloaked. "It's not a dozen long-stemmed roses, is it?"

"Ha, ha. No, you don't have to worry. I'm over that. Temporary insanity. I'm sure I'll be straight again once I get to Atlantis." Rodney looked over his shoulder. John had stopped a few paces back, peering into the box. What he was looking at was a brand new super-cool energy rifle with all the bells and whistles, some of which Rodney didn't even understand because his own ATA was too weak to activate them.

John closed the box and looked up at Rodney, grinning. "How did you know?"

"I don't know, I just had this feeling." Rodney smiled back. He was getting that warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach again. He'd better be straight again once he got back to Atlantis, because he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

They walked in mostly-comfortable silence down the hill to the jumper. When they arrived--John knew exactly where she was, and patted her affectionately to decloak--Rodney glanced back at the fortress. Against the gray sky it looked foreboding and grim. Hard to believe he had so many happy memories from the last five days.

John didn't look back, just hefted the box under his arm and whistled a little tune. "Well, I'd say this was a successful trip."

"I guess." Rodney climbed up the gangway behind him. "I wish Rienn would've come with us."

"She made her choice, and hey, she didn't get slaughtered," said John. "Can't ask more than that."

"But what kind of life is she going to have there?" Rodney threw himself into the shotgun seat. "Everyone's always going to suspect her, and doubt, and it's not like she's going to stop liking men. She's just going to have to live with it."

"But she gets to be a warrior."

"Fuck that," said Rodney.

"No, it's all right," John assured him. "Think about it. Would you have left your home? Your people?"

"I did," said Rodney.

"Right, Earth, whatever." John dismissed his home planet with a wave. "Would you leave Atlantis? Even if you couldn't be with--Katie, or whoever you like."

So nice of you to pretend you don't know, Rodney thought.

"In her place," said John. "I'd have made the exact same choice."

Rodney stared as John lovingly guided the ship up into the air. You did, he thought. You do, all the time.

"So tell me this," said Rodney. "Say you're in her position. You like guys. Uh, you're a Kalenna girl in this scenario."

"Got it."

"You meet this perfect guy that you're totally into. Smart, charming, sexy, gets your jokes..."

"Riiight..."

"What would you do--just ignore it? Or would you go for it, have this whole secret relationship? I mean, would you make the same choice she did originally, to give this guy a shot? Pretend you don't know how it's going to turn out."

"The thing is, that's always the way it turns out, eventually," said John. "That or you break each other's hearts. Or both."

"So, then... you wouldn't," said Rodney flatly.

"No," said John after a moment. "I would."

Rodney looked at him. He was concentrating on his flying, looking straight ahead into the sky. His hands were resting on the dials, but only the left seemed to be doing anything. On an impulse Rodney reached out and took the right. John glanced down briefly, but he didn't pull away.

"Will you?" Rodney asked quietly.

"I don't want to engage in hypotheticals, Rodney," was all John would say.

Then, all of a sudden, a jolt coursed through Rodney's body, because John squeezed his hand.

"So," said Rodney, coughing, and catching on, "it's Wednesday, you know. Game night."

"That's right," said John. "My quarters after debriefing?"

"Let the games begin," said Rodney.

**Author's Note:**

> In exchange for her beta on _Two Weeks Notice_, my McKay/Zelenka romantic comedy, I promised erda an equally lighthearted John/Rodney romp. She wanted a good old-fashioned oldschool cliche fic: a story featuring a tried and true SGA fic trope. On the shortlist:
> 
> 1\. Pretending to be gay  
> 2\. Forced proximity  
> 3\. Oblivious!Rodney  
> 4\. Pining!John  
> 5\. Accidental Outing  
> 6\. DADT  
> 7\. Geeky!John  
> 8\. Past exposed
> 
> I thought, why do one of these when I could do all of them? I revised "all" to "five" and came up with the outline for this story. I then proceeded to write about half of it, take a three month long break (due mainly to life events, classes and other writing), and then finally finish it in the form you see now as a way of putting off working on a Yuletide fic.
> 
> Thank you again to yolsaffbridge for her beta and patience.


End file.
